Prayer for Hand Sanitizer (Even When it Stings)



Hallelujah for viscosity (amen to that).

A toast to the ambiguity of states of matter

and to the bubbles that manage to stay still

even when the door slams.

This is a celebration of your foremothers

and their menstrual blood.

This is relationship anarchy, and just plain

anarchy. And paper cuts.

You got them on a manifesto,

reading by moonlight since it’s almost full

and it wasn’t too cloudy.

There’s no point trusting soap dispensers,

everything is sticky and

the little drop of blood is creeping toward the couch.

You can’t stop watching it,

seems like an empty gas tank

or a muddy highway.

But it’s just blood, just flesh,

just something you remember even though

you weren’t there to begin with and

you’re already writing verses in your head and

can’t seem to stop thinking about

that scissors shaped scar

and the stinging hand sanitizer

on the other side of your ring finger.